


every inch is a mile

by ryanzimmerman



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Angst, Friends w/ Benefits, M/M, Washington Nationals, bryce harper's big gay crisis, it's not too bad don't worry, rarepairs, ryan zimmerman is soft as hell, zim's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 02:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14740535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryanzimmerman/pseuds/ryanzimmerman
Summary: They've been doing this for awhile. They still haven't decided what "this" is.aka Bryce is emotionally stunted and Ryan just wants to love him.





	every inch is a mile

**Author's Note:**

> wow a pairing that -3 people care about. cool. 
> 
> totally unbeta'd, all mistakes r mine. 
> 
> ik it's kind of short i marathon wrote this in one night lmao. i listened to no.1 party anthem and it made me want to write them dancing together, then the goblin in my brain told me 2 make it sad. 
> 
> rated mature just bc boinking is mentioned and i wanted 2 be safe. 
> 
> title from sam hunt's _body like a back road_ bc it's still bryce's walk up and im still laughing about it a year later.

It's going on two in the morning and Ryan Zimmerman just spent the last hour or so fucking the life out of his right fielder. Bryce is dead asleep, still naked, facing the wall and snoring lightly, while Zim is up long after they've finished, perched on the edge of the bed. He gets up slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake Bryce up. This is partially because he's nice, and partially because he wants to avoid talking about what just happened. They've been doing this for awhile. They still haven't decided what "this" is. 

Zim blames that on the fact that he knows their thing terrifies Bryce. He's always been so concerned about his image, how people perceive him, what they're saying about him. It'd just be another thing for him to worry about, and he won't do that too him. Even if he really wants to sometimes. Plus, Bryce hasn't shown much of an interest in making their "thing" anything more than it has been anyway. He comes to Zim when he's had a rough game, or a good game, or just whenever he's desperate to get fucked, and Zim gives him what he needs. Bryce doesn't even spend the night half the time, and when he does, he shrugs Zim off every time he tries to get near him after they're done. He falls asleep facing away from Zim, on the far edge of the bed, and is gone before he wakes up in the morning. 

It's almost funny, how distant Bryce is afterwards, considering how much he begs to be held and kissed and touched all over while they're fucking. 

Zim pads into the little kitchen in the hotel room and grabs a ridiculously expensive water bottle out of the fridge. He's exhausted. He's getting to old for this, for baseball and workouts and playing every damn night and keeping up with horny, emotionally stunted guys still in their early 20s. The TV is still on with the volume down low, some infomercial for a CD set humming through the room. It's playing some slow, dreamy song from way before either of their times. Zim leans against the counter and drinks slowly, occasionally looking over to where Bryce is sleeping. He watches his form rise and fall, half under the covers, and tries not to think about the knot that's currently building in his stomach. He knew Bryce was probably worn out and sore, probably had bruises lining his hips and thighs from where Zim had held him down earlier, and he'd give just about anything to be able to crawl back into bed and run his hands over every mark he'd made without freaking him out. 

Zim takes a sip and the water bottle crinkles. Loudly. He hears Bryce groan and start moving, and he curses himself mentally.

"Sorry" he says quietly. Bryce sits up and looks across the dimly lit room, pushing his hair back out of his face. Zim can't meet his gaze, so he just stares at the TV, pretending to be deeply interested in The 60s Greatest Love Songs. He keeps his eyes on the screen as Bryce crawls out of bed and puts his boxers back on, feels the knot in his stomach tighten, because he's sure that Bryce is gonna leave now that he's fully realized what they've done. Again. For what feels like the hundredth time. He still hasn't looked away as Bryce walks right towards him, stares at him for a second or two, and then leans against the counter next to him. Both of them stare at the tv in the dark room, close enough to feel the other's warmth. 

"You know this song or something?" Bryce asks, clearly confused by why Zim is so engrossed in this dumb fucking commercial.

"How old do you think I am, Harp?" Zim responds, completely deadpan. Bryce laughs a little and Zim can feel a little bit of the tension leave him. 

"That's not what I meant," he says, and Zim can hear the smirk on his face. He's not pissed off, or even scared, as far as Zim can tell. So he gets bold. He reaches out and puts his hand on the small of Bryce's back, his pinky finger resting over the waistband of Bryce's underwear. He's still warm from being wrapped up in bed. He hears Bryce's breath catch, and panics because Zim's _sure_ he's gonna bolt. It's like dealing with a fucking feral cat. But Bryce stays staring at the TV and, eventually, leans into Zim's touch, inching closer to him. He starts rubbing circles into Bryce's back, and he leans against Zim's side in response, lays his head on head on his shoulder, and Zim briefly thinks that he could die like this. Sleepy, in the middle of the damn night, with some stupid love song playing and with a half naked Bryce Harper pressed tight up against him. He then realized how fucking dramatic that is and gets over it. Bryce adjusts himself against Zim, gets comfortable, making it clear that he has no intentions of leaving just yet. So Zim gets bolder. 

He sets the water bottle down on the counter and snakes an arm around Bryce's hips. 

"What're you doing man..." Bryce says, quietly, nervously as Zim gets his other arm around him. He pushes his forehead against Bryce's and settles his arms around his waist, hands draping down over his ass. Zim manages to make eye contact with him for half a second, and he can see how tired and how scared he is, all wide eyes and dark circles. He's getting sick of seeing him like that if he's honest. Zim kisses him lightly, not slipping any tongue or grabbing a fistful of hair like they usually do. Bryce kisses back, but immediately stares down at the floor beneath them when Zim pulls away. Zim sighs softly and presses his lips to Bryce's forehead, just because it's what's right in front of him, and he feels Bryce tense up at how fucking _soft_ it is. He pulls Bryce in closer, before he can say anything about leaving, because Zim knows he's thinking about it, and reaches up to guide Bryce's head into the crook of his neck. Bryce buries his face there, his nose pushed against Zim's shoulder, and Zim can hear him breathing heavier than he had been before. He keeps Bryce close and cards a hand through his hair, holding him there until he eventually runs his hands up Zim's arms and clings to the front of his t-shirt. Zim's surprised he got this far.

The TV is still going in the background, the only noise in an otherwise dead silent room. They both seem to notice it again at the same time, because they both look over at it as the song changes. Again, something old, slow. and then Zim starts laughing. 

"Why're you..." Bryce looks up, but doesn't get to finish his sentence before Zim starts swaying him back and forth a little. Bryce's eyes widen, and Zim knows he's pushed it too far now, there's no way he's gonna stand here and fucking _dance_ with him. But Bryce just puts his head back where it had been, laying on Zim's shoulder, and lets Zim lead him. 

They don't have any idea what they're doing. Bryce steps on Zim's toes a couple of times, and they keep falling out of time with the music, because honestly did anyone really expect Ryan Zimmerman to have any rhythm? But neither of them care. Bryce is close enough that Zim can count the freckles on his shoulders in the dim light, and eventually, Bryce lets go of Zim's shirt and wraps an arm up around his neck. He runs his free arm up Zim's side, gently ghosting his fingers over his latest injury, and every couple of moments he presses a soft, scratchy kiss against Zim's neck. he's sweeter than Zim has ever seen him, it’s wonderful and it's surprising and it fuels him to push for a final time. 

"What are we doing, Bryce?" he asks, barely a whisper. And as soon as the words leave his mouth, he feels the moment burst like a balloon. Bryce pulls back and his arms drop. He grabs ahold of Zim's arms at his sides, squeezes tight enough to leave indents in his skin, and just stares at Zim like he can't believe what just happened, what he just let himself do. Zim tightens his grip on Bryce's waist and tries to pull him back, mumbling a string of "no"s and "nevermind"s and "don't worry about it"s but it's too late. Bryce pushes his hands off. The music on the TV cuts out and switches to someone talking, as if it can sense what just happened, and Zim wants to throw the remote through it because _he can't believe he fucked this up again._

"I should go" Bryce says, already making his way back to the bed to find his clothes. Zim just watches him, digging for something to say. He knows nothing will work but he tries anyway. 

"You don't have to." He answers, lamely. Bryce already has his jeans on. He runs a hand through his hair and pointedly avoids looking anywhere near Zim. He pulls his shirt on and rubs at his hips, over where Zim had been holding him, the look on his face bordering on disgust. They're done for the night, done until Bryce needs him again. Zim knows it'll be weeks. The knot in his stomach is back. It's bigger than it was before. 

Zim knows better than to keep arguing with him. Knows that if he pushes too far Bryce might think twice about coming back to him at all. Instead, he walks behind Bryce as he crosses the room to leave, silently, both of them pointedly staring in opposite directions. Bryce opens the door, and the light from the hallway is so harsh it almost hurts. 

"Night, Harp." Zim mumbles, and as Bryce goes to leave, he reaches out to put a hand on his arm. He jerks away, instinctively, and walks out into the hallway without looking back, or even acknowledging that Zim had said anything. It hurts more than he was expecting, getting that close and then scaring him off again. Worse than the pulled muscle in his side, worse than really any of his injuries that he could remember. But there was an upside this time, at least. He knew that Bryce wasn't as detached as he liked to pretend, that maybe he actually wanted Zim like he wanted Bryce. And he figured next time, he'd push a little farther, get a little closer, until Bryce decided to finally talk about his fucking feelings for once in his life. It was always baby steps with him.

He'd keep trying. I mean, come on, it's _Bryce Harper_. He, unfortunately, wasn't the kind of guy you could just replace, or forget about too easily. Everyone had always said he was one of a kind, that there was no one like him. 

They really didn't know the half of it. 

Zim crawled back into the bed. It had since gone cold, but he laid in Bryce's spot anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> bryce,, bby.... just let him lov u. 
> 
> come talk 2 me on tumblr! i'm @fpsantangelo! encourage me 2 write a second half for this lmao
> 
> also if any1 cares, i promise i didn't abandon my trea/2bags fic, imma finish it!!!


End file.
